


Sherlollipops - Cupboard Confessions

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [205]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: Ditsypersephone said: Ooooohh, how about a case where Molly and Sherlock are both undercover in a lord’s house, either together or separately, and to divert suspicion they pretend to be having a tryst in the cupboard but things get a bit out of hand (pun intended)…would someone please write this? Please and thank you!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ditsypersephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ditsypersephone/gifts).



“Mr. Holmes, we are discovered!” Molly gasped as she heard footsteps approaching the hall that led to Lord Witherspoon’s private study. “I am posing as a maid, so I can claim to have been cleaning, but what of you? You’re supposed to be one of the grooms and should be at the stables!”

The consulting detective’s mind was already considering their mutual predicament, and with lightning speed it came to the only possible conclusion. “Quickly, Miss Hooper, the cupboard beneath the stairs. We’ll pretend that we were meeting for a romantic tryst. It will of course result in our mutual dismissal from Service but I believe we’ve collected the evidence we need for Inspector Lestrade to make his arrest.”

As he spoke he opened the simple wooden door, pushing aside the miscellany of brooms and what-nots in order to make room for their two slender forms. He pulled the door closed at the same time that he pulled Molly into his embrace. His lips were on hers in a trice, and he felt her small, strong hands pulling him closer by the braces he wore over his simple white cotton shirt. He’d left the sleeves rolled up in his haste to search for the evidence he needed when he’d ascertained that Lord Witherspoon’s study was unoccupied, and the top three buttons were undone as well. This seemed very much to Molly’s liking, as she pulled back from the kiss to press her soft lips to the base of his throat, releasing his hold on his braces in order to run her fingers over his bared forearms.

He felt his body reacting to her touch, to their enforced closeness, valiantly attempting to convince himself it was simply the circumstances rather than the woman herself who excited him - to no avail. He tugged at Molly’s cap, pulling it roughly from her head in order to thread his fingers through her braided tresses, then crashed his lips against hers with a desperation born of long-frustrated need. “Molly,” he moaned as they broke the kiss, “you know how long I’ve wanted this, to make you mine?”

“William,” she moaned right back, managing somehow to remain in character enough to recall that he wasn’t using his own name - or rather, that he was masquerading as ‘William Scott’ whilst in Lord Witherspoon’s employ. “Oh, William, you know that I am yours, I’ve been yours since we first met, there’s been no one else and never will be.”

There was truth in her words; he could feel it in his very bones, just as his own words had been spoken from the heart he’d once denied owning.

But then, it was Molly who truly owned that organ - who owned every inch of him and always would. “I love you,” he murmured into her ear, even as his hands reached for the bodice of her dress, swiftly undoing the row of black buttons beneath the bib of the starched white apron she wore. “Say you’ll marry me, promise me, give me your word.”

“Yes, of course I will!” she gasped out as his hands slid against the curves of her breasts, still frustratingly covered by her corset and chemise.

“What’s going on in there?” The door was yanked open by the owner of that peevish voice, and the outraged face of Lord Witherspoon met their guilty stares. “Molly! How dare you engage in such wanton behaviour in my house! And with…who is this young ruffian?”

“M’names Scott, Will’em Scott, m’lord, from the stables,” Sherlock said as he tugged at his forelock, his voice automatically slipping into the cadences of the Yorkshireman he was pretending to be. “Beggin’ my pardon, m’lord, it weren’t Miss Molly’s fault…”

“I don’t care who claims fault, young man; I will not tolerate such lewd behaviour in my house! You are both dismissed this instant, with no references. Get your belongings together and get out this instant!” His face was nearly purple, and Sherlock had to stop his eyes from rolling at the sheer hypocrisy of the man, considering his ownership of a rather large collection of French postcards and other pornographic materials. Still, he managed not to give the game away, instead protectively holding a weeping Molly in his arms and helping her out of the cupboard. A quick peek told him that she was only partially acting; the dangers they faced should their deception be unmasked were, after all, very real.

Fortune remained with them; Witherspoon was far too outraged to do more than demand their immediate vacancy from his property, and even summoned both the housekeeper and the head groom - who were carrying on their own clandestine romance, as Sherlock had already discovered - to personally supervise their removal.

Once they’d gathered their meager belongings they were marched to the edge of his lordship’s lands, ordered to walk to the village and from there find their own way - either “back to London, where your improprieties might be overlooked by those sinful folks, or to perdition for all I care!” as his lordship put it.

Once they were fully out of sight of anyone from the manor or its grounds, Sherlock pulled Molly over to the shade of the nearest tree, tugged her small bundle of belongings from her arms, and proceeded to snog her quite breathless. “Sherlock,” she gasped out as soon as the kiss ended, “we’ve no need to continue this charade…unless you believe we are being watched still?” Her eyes darted around in search of such phantom voyeurs, which he was quick to assure her did not exist.

“I kissed you, Miss Hooper, because I wanted to - and unless I am very much mistaken, you had no objections to my actions. If I have erred in my deduction, I offer my most sincere apologi…mmpfh!”

Her lips covering his cut off any remaining words, and indeed robbed him of the breath to utter more.

Two weeks later they were wed, attended by a rather bemused Inspector Lestrade, a smug Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock’s landlady and now Molly’s as well), and their very good friends, Dr. and Mrs. John H. Watson. Although Mary’s ‘interesting condition’ was quite visible, both Sherlock and Molly were insistent that she stand up as Matron of Honour with her husband as Best Man - and since Mr. Mycroft Holmes was the officiant, there were no murmurs against it.


End file.
